


Heartfelt

by irusu_u3



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Model Oikawa Tooru, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Protective Hanamaki Takahiro, Protective Iwaizumi Hajime, Protective Matsukawa Issei, YUP LMAO, but it's complicated, omg they're so dumb, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irusu_u3/pseuds/irusu_u3
Summary: Four years ago, they made the painful decision to exclude Oikawa Tooru from their relationship.Now, still just as smitten with him as they are with each other, decisions have to be made, because Oikawa Tooru is slowly slipping from their grasps.Or alternatively ; a lot of pining, the troubles of being a celebrity and they're so in fucking love.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Iwaizumi Hajime & Matsukawa Issei & Oikawa Tooru, Hanamaki Takahiro/Iwaizumi Hajime/Matsukawa Issei/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 7
Kudos: 232





	Heartfelt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IHaveNoUsernameCreativity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHaveNoUsernameCreativity/gifts).



> Happy birthday Kikumi!
> 
> I'm so glad you decided to comment on my first ever fic, because otherwise we would have never met!  
> You're a fantastic friend to simp over Oikawa with and without you, I would have never written as much as I have, and for that I am forever grateful.  
> I really really hope you'll enjoy this oneshot I wrote for you, and I wish you a further happy birthday <3
> 
> _Disclaimer ; The depiction of paparazzi and celebrity life in Japan in general in this fanfic is not true to reality. Japan doesn't actually have paparazzi all that much, but I have used various tropes for the sake of storytelling._

The ear-deafening applause in the studio should make him feel something, anything.

It should make him feel thankful, and rightfully proud.

It should.

But it didn’t.

It only caused his headache to worsen.

And yet, Oikawa Tooru smiled at the studio’s audience, and at the cameras.

The dusty, teal eyeshadow distracted from the lack of sincere twinkles of joy in his eyes.  
The expensive, strawberry-scented hair gel kept his curly hair from drooping in front of his face.  
The concealer hid the dark circles.

“So, Tooru-kun, tell us. . . Do you currently have your eye on someone? Is there a lovely girl out there, who stole your heart?”

The interviewer, a peppy young lady, cast him a gossip-y glance on purpose for comedic effect, as if the two of them were discussing a major trade secret, drawing a conspiring laugh out of their audience.

She had shown him, before the show started, the questions she was going to ask, and if he were comfortable with them.

Oikawa gave her the okay to all of them, before Matsukawa could even get his piece of mind in.  
In which a very quick, hissy lecture followed, because Oikawa was always like that and Matsukawa couldn’t fix it.

Questions about his life, but not too private.  
His romantic ventures, but never his sexual experiences.

About what it was like, being a rising model _so famous_ and _successful_ , Oikawa and his team traveled all across the world for photo shoots, fashion shows and interviews.

Only this morning at 7 AM they arrived in the Tokyo International Airport, finally back in their homely Japan after a week of country-hopping.

“Well, Aki-chan,” Oikawa hummed, forcing a sly, thin smile.  
He adjusted a bit in the soft, cushion-y chair, ignoring the flare of one of the overhanging studio lights beaming in the corner of his eye.

“I do, actually, have my eye on someone,” he continued, winking at the camera currently blinking red, live, “But, you see. . . my career doesn’t necessarily. . . allow, for any romance.”

The people stayed silent, anticipating Oikawa support that statement a bit more, the atmosphere turned serious.

“I can’t go on dates easily, with a schedule like mine. With the internet and social media these days, our relationship would be in the spotlight at any given moment, and I wouldn’t want that for her -- nor me.”

Aki nodded in understanding, encouraging him to go on.

“Besides. . . It’s difficult to distinguish someone who likes me for _me_ , for who I am, and not for my job,” he concluded.

“Of course,” Aki agreed, leaning back into her chair, “With being a celebrity comes media attention, and with media attention comes drama and continuous pressure to never slip up.”

Oikawa and her talked about the recent peak of “ cancel culture ” and internet drama backstage, and found themselves agreeing with each other completely.  
She was avidly against it, having been a victim of false accusations from her ex that blew up over the internet, and helped celebrities that deserved it clear their names on her show.

“Don’t get me wrong though, the single life is extremely fun,” Oikawa added, laughing a bit.  
“I’ll see about serious relationships in a few years or so.”

“Most definitely, staying single can be just as rewarding as dating someone,” she nodded.  
“As for the final question of tonight’s show, I have. . .

“Can you tell us anything about the big project you’ve been dropping hints about on your social media?”

“Aha, I see, so this is the question you’ve been buttering me up for all along!”

Akihiko giggled, nodding fervently.

“I can only tell you that the final product will be limited edition, and on sale for a limited amount of time. Me and my team have worked very hard, so we hope that you will enjoy what we cooked up for you all.”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged, Oikawa posed with his signature peace sign in front of the camera, before bowing and exiting the stage.

He faintly heard Aki finish up and rile the audience and viewers up for tomorrow’s broadcast, but he didn’t stick around to listen.  
He passed by a few mechanics, the backstage crew with their headsets and even blatantly ignored Matsukawa, again.

The smile had been wiped from his face, his shoulders slumped and his eyelids drooped halfway in exhaustion.

He made a beeline for the door with the sign with his name in a curly, black lettertype.

His body ached, his fingers felt bloated and stung, and the headache -- well, the headache, it persisted.  
It persisted, thumping against his temple with every step he took and every breath he breathed.

It’d been going on for a few days, now.

And Oikawa was so tired of dealing with it.

On days like these, Oikawa truly wondered when his body would just give up.  
When he’d mentally and physically collapse.  
He’d come close before, often enough, but never truly.  
His support group always reeled him back into the swing of life in time.

On this Friday night, after a completely packed week where the only times he got to sleep were on the planes away from and back to Tokyo and the rides to various studios and companies in between, he’d love to curl up into a ball, somewhere, anywhere.  
It didn’t matter, at this point.

But he couldn’t.

“You look horrible,” was Hanamaki’s greeting the moment Oikawa slunk into his dressing room, ready to get all the makeup off his face and change into a comfortable set of clothing.

“Gee thanks, Makki.”  
Oikawa couldn’t be bothered to put any sincere feeling in his retort.  
He didn’t have to anyway, with Hanamaki.

Heaving a loud sigh on Oikawa behalf, Hanamaki swatted the soft cotton across the tube of makeup remover, gently cleaning the chemicals off the model and rapidly rising actor’s face.

He might have joked about it, but it struck Hanamaki’s heart to see his best friend like this, no matter how many times he’s seen the same sight.

And yet, he could only offer his support and presence, and nothing more.

Even if the makeup artist would love nothing more than to kiss the pain and stress away.  
Even if Hanamaki wanted to spoil him like a lover would, he could only play the role of “ best friend ”.

He handed Oikawa his favorite ratty sweatpants and faded alien sweater, even if it wouldn’t be the best for him to be seen in these clothes by the paparazzi and news outlets, who were no doubt waiting to jump him at the front entrance of the studio.

Hanamaki decided to spoil him like that in his own way, the smallest of gestures.  
He’d convince Iwaizumi to not berate him about it later, though he doubted the man would -- Iwaizumi was in tune with Oikawa and his emotions better than anyone ever was.  
Iwaizumi would know Oikawa couldn’t take any setbacks right now.

He draped the black, fluffy coat around Oikawa’s shoulders, who sat unmoving in his chair in front of the mirror, eyes closed -- asleep?  
No, barely awake.

The coldness and frail feel of Oikawa’s skin and bones around his shoulder area honestly frightened Hanamaki.  
He quickly caught himself, and regained a more neutral expression before nudging Oikawa to stand back up.

At least he knew it wasn’t a case of Oikawa starving himself, not this time.

It had happened in the past, when Oikawa’s modelling career started to gain more and more traction.

Even Iwaizumi, the mentally strongest out of all four of them, who had the thickest skin when it came to emotions, cracked.  
He broke, when the lights of the ambulance colored the walls of their shared apartment, and they left with Oikawa on a brancard, hooked on various tubes.

Hanamaki knew and could recognize the earliest signs of a developing eating disorder by heart.  
He could tell when Oikawa relapsed that one time, after extensive therapy, and immediately took action to prevent him from ever falling into that starved state again.

Oikawa had recovered.  
They all believed he would, but that didn’t change the amount of relief and pride they felt when they hugged the brunet and _couldn’t_ feel bones curving into their skin.

Stealing a glance at the model through the mirror in front of them, Hanamaki promptly decided Oikawa needed a break from it all, from everything.

This was exhaustion, stress and overexertion taking its toll on Oikawa’s body, and they needed to put a halt to it right now, because Oikawa wouldn’t be able to stop by himself.

Matsukawa probably couldn’t cancel a full week’s worth of work.

But there was no doubt he’d try to get a few days completely freed up.  
And when push came to shove, Matsukawa would have Iwaizumi take over the phone to aggressively pressure and guilt trip a few of their clients into postponing to a later date.

“Come on, just lean onto me,” Hanamaki muttered, his arm wrapped around Oikawa’s torso and guiding him back outside into the hallway, balancing their stuffed bags around his free arm.

And Oikawa did, lending half his weight to Hanamaki, withholding just enough to not make them both topple over.

Matsukawa rounded the corner and took over their belongings after one glance at Oikawa, to Hanamaki’s enormous relief.  
It only made him more thankful of Matsukawa’s uncanny ability to just. . . _know_ , certain things, by observation or guesswork only.

“All finalized chats and pleasantries are done, Aki was very kind and understanding about us leaving early,” Matsukawa said, walking out in front of them with his phone in his hand, occasionally checking for any new notifications.

“Ah, Iwaizumi’s saying the entrance is indeed blocked by reporters, as expected,” the black-haired male uttered, squinting at his phone’s screen.  
He ran a hand through his already naturally messy hair.

“We’ll take the emergency exit,” Hanamaki suggested, and the other nodded in agreement.

“We gotta. I’ll call up Kyoutani right now, and see if he can drive up next to the building.”  
Matsukawa rapidly dialed their grumpy chauffeur, pressing the device against his ear.

“Tell him to flatten a few of those pesky reporters at the front while he’s at it,” Hanamaki chimed in.  
“Take those grimy bastards out. And I don’t mean on a date, mind you.”

That elicited the smallest of snorts from Oikawa, who, by some miracle, was still conscious enough to listen to his friends.

The brunet couldn’t have known the spark he lit in Hanamaki’s body when he made that ugly and unflattering, but typical Oikawa Tooru noise, that did more than just validate Hanamaki’s badly timed sense of humor.

“Kyoutani says he’ll be here in four minutes, loaded with bleach to erase the evidence of a paparazzi homicide,” Matsukawa informed briefly, before continuing to talk on the phone.

“Fuck the paparazzi,” Oikawa slurred softly, ending in a grumble as he buried his face into Hanamaki’s shoulder.  
“Kill’em all in the name of Oikawa Tooru.”

“Go, Kyouken, go,” Hanamaki added sagely.

His breath hitched at the sight of Iwaizumi, currently holding open the surprisingly heavy emergency door leading into the alley to the side of the studio.

All four of them were together again, they survived another hectic week, and all were ready to sleep in their own beds in their own but _technically_ Oikawa’s villa.

“If those fangirls -- and fanboys, _goddamn_ _it_ \-- outside saw how shitty their idol looked now, I doubt they still want a selfie with him,” Iwaizumi grumbled, stepping aside to let the three of them pass.

He may have said that, but both Hanamaki and Matsukawa could tell that statement came from a place of protectiveness and pride.

Pride, because Iwaizumi was one of three people alive who knew the real Oikawa Tooru that others never got to see.

A hint of possessiveness, too.  
But Hanamaki nor Matsukawa could blame him, as the three of them all shared the exact same feelings.

The feeling of having something precious within their reach, yet unable to touch and take it.  
Knowing they were so close, yet so frustratingly far away.

Only finding solace in each other.

“I don’t know how you’re still underestimating the power of celebrity influence after this many years in the business,” Matsukawa replied, “It’s all about the way you consistently present yourself.”

“They see Tooru now, they’ll only pity him,” Hanamaki added, “As do I, he looks like a drowned rat.”

“A rat drowned in work and succumbing to stress, yeah.”  
Iwaizumi’s voice took on a different tone as he looked at Oikawa again, who didn’t even squawk or cry or say _anything_ back about the less than unflattering comparison.

Hanamaki thought it might not be the best time to start insulting him, anyway, even if it were a joke.

Oikawa could take it, sure.  
Most of the time.  
But the brunet was simultaneously plagued by insecurities and doubts on a daily basis, and if they all collectively didn’t watch out, those thoughts would swarm him.

Heading through the alleyway in the dark, Iwaizumi went first and breached into the street, gesturing for the others to hurry the fuck up.  
Just then, a black sedan turned into this very street, windows tinted black and safely hiding anything inside from the public eye.

Matsukawa joined Hanamaki and heaved Oikawa up on the other side, leading them in Iwaizumi’s footsteps as the latter shielded them as best as possible from the crowd formed, together with a few guards from the studio itself who were sent to help them.

They unceremoniously dumped Oikawa in the backseat, Matsukawa following behind while Hanamaki took one of the seats in the middle, quickly joined by Iwaizumi who called out a hurried “ Thank you ” to the guards.

“That’s our Kyoutani, with an impeccable sense of timing, as always,” Matsukawa cheered in a way suggesting all his worries had suddenly evaporated, strapping himself in, but carefully holding Oikawa’s limp body against his own.

Kyoutani merely grumbled in acknowledgment, and immediately started driving away to their destination, their home, only barely missing a stray rookie reporter crossing the street, in the hope of snagging a picture of _Oikawa Tooru; Japan’s Newest Sensation_.

Glancing downward at the tousled, glossy curls on his shoulder, Matsukawa breathed in the faint strawberry, brushing away a few glittery makeup remnants from Oikawa’s cheek.

Iwaizumi peered over his shoulder, “He fell asleep?”

Matsukawa nodded.

Hanamaki sighed noisily, throwing his head backwards, lazily staring out the darkened window.

They sat in silence, no music on the radio, with only the steady rumbling of the car’s engine and city noises to accompany them.

Matsukawa’s fingers worked a constant rhythm as he pet Oikawa’s hair, simultaneously dialing Seijoh Model & Talent Agency.  
He patiently waited, knowing there was always someone in the office at any given hour on any day of the week except Sunday.

“Hey Matsukawa, what’s up?” came Yahaba’s casual greeting.  
“. . . Wait, it’s nearing 1 AM. . . I swear to God, if you’re going to ask me to come pick you asswipes up at some bar again -- “

“No, no,” Matsukawa quickly interrupted, “Just -- For context, we’re currently on our way back home from that late night show, and Oikawa’s -- not lookin’ great, if you catch my drift.”

“Ah,” Yahaba’s deadpan voice came through, “Right, I remember. You all just ended that particularly rough week. . . various shoots throughout Western Europe, correct?”

“That’s the one,” Matsukawa confirmed unenthusiastically, exhaustion dripping from his words.  
“Can you do something about tomorrow’s schedule? I can’t even fucking remember what’s planned, and I’m supposed to be the manager.”

Yahaba went silent for a while, presumably looking through the system to check Oikawa’s planner.

“Okay,” Yahaba announced after a bit, and Matsukawa unintentionally perked up a bit, hopeful.  
“Only a catalogue fitting session for a sports magazine, I’ll work something out and move it to probably upcoming Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll let you know.”

Matsukawa breathed out in relief, a vague, satisfied grin forming on his lips.  
“I knew I could count on you. We can all get some proper rest going over into Sunday as well, ah -- _fuck_ , this is great. Thanks, Yahaba.”

“No problem at all, I’ve seen Oikawa’s past week’s schedule before and I’m surprised he managed to put on a decent -- _dare I say “ good ”_ \-- performance at the show. I just watched it live.”

“Pretty sure Tooru’s sold his soul to the Devil, if I’m honest,” Matsukawa mumbled.  
“Hey, I’ll probably talk to you again soon about next week. Don’t fall asleep in the office again.”

“I-I won’t! Say hi to Oikawa from me, and tell or force him _for all I care_ to eat a proper meal for once! Bye!”

Hanamaki leered at him from his seat the moment he secured his phone back in his pocket.  
“Good news, right?”

“Good news, we’re completely free tomorrow,” Matsukawa confirmed with a cocky smirk, and Hanamaki gave him a very soft applause.

Oikawa’s villa was a true beauty, handpicked after various tedious hours by the model himself, two months ago.  
It was located in a neighborhood where various other small-scale celebrities lived, many of which were quickly befriended by Oikawa, protected by a gate and security.

There was Akaashi Keiji, rising author of the newest bestseller.  
Sugawara Koushi, a fellow model and music video actor and dancer.  
Semi Eita, newbie idol with his first single consistently within the top 5 of Japan’s hitlist for the past two weeks.

Kyoutani parked perfectly in front of their home, not without casting a somewhat pitiful glance over at Oikawa when Iwaizumi hauled him out of the car.

Oikawa didn’t rouse, not when midnight cicadas increasingly got louder further into their large garden, and not when they stomped inside the villa itself.

Iwaizumi let the other two deal with their luggage for now, as he carried his best friend up the ivory white stairs, branching out into the second floor where all their bedrooms were located.

He heard Hanamaki and Matsukawa chat downstairs, moving their luggage and rummaging around in the kitchen.

Wordlessly, Iwaizumi took off Oikawa’s shoes, placing it at the end of the Queen sized bed, pushing aside the beige, see-through curtains, as he carefully tucked him in.

And nothing more.  
He didn’t undress him or help him change into his ugly Star Wars pajamas.  
He didn’t press his lips to his forehead, or brushed aside a few curls.

Because Iwaizumi couldn’t.  
None of them could.

“. . . Goodnight,” he did whisper, before exiting and closing Oikawa’s bedroom door behind himself.

Sluggish, he padded back downstairs, trading his sneakers for his pair of fluffy slippers.  
The only light came indeed from the kitchen.  
Suppressing a yawn, he sauntered up to his two boyfriends, who caught him in a three-way hug.

“. . . Neither of you are going to wake Tooru any earlier than late afternoon,” he demanded, “ I doubt any of us will be awake by then, anyway.”

“Even I would feel like a monster if I did, so don’t worry,” Hanamaki muttered, nosing into Iwaizumi’s neck and breathed, warmth fanning across the other’s skin.  
He pressed a kiss right on the juncture between shoulder and neck, and another one near Iwaizumi’s Adam’s apple.

Matsukawa was the first to break away, leaving the other two in an embrace, flipping over the pancake in one fell swoop, like the master chef he liked to think he is.

“Check this out,” Hanamaki said, voice rough and hoarse, taking his phone out of his pocket.  
He tapped away for a bit, before sliding the phone into Iwaizumi’s hand.

He gave him an unreadable expression, making Iwaizumi frown in suspicion before turning his attention to the screen -- the brightness of which kind of hurt his tired eyes.

Hanamaki flopped down on one of the stools around the kitchen island, laying his head down on top, watching Iwaizumi from the side.

He’d put on a news gossip article, which was enough for a generous amount of worry to bubble up in Iwaizumi’s stomach.

In thick capital letters stood, _“Oikawa Tooru Spotted In Central Tokyo With Fellow Model”_.  
Published 3 hours ago, when all four of them were still preparing for the night show broadcast in the studio.

Right underneath was a picture of their best friend sitting at a table at his favorite coffee shop, accompanied by none other than rival company’s star model, Sugawara Koushi.

“Why -- ” Iwaizumi started, clicking his tongue in annoyance, “ -- is it now a newsworthy sensation? They’ve been seen together multiple times before.”

He scrolled down, flying over the sentences, brows curled up into an even worse scowl.

He chucked Hanamaki’s phone into the waiting hands of its owner.

“They think they’re dating.”

“Yup,” Hanamaki sighed, fiddling the device, “Perfect timing to publish, right after the night show. People will be looking up stuff related to Oikawa, it’s prime time to publish a slandering article.”

“It’s not unheard of, of bisexual celebs,” Matsukawa chimed in as he slid a plate with pancakes to the middle of the kitchen island.  
“But this is such a far stretched assumption based on a photo of two people literally just chatting with each other -- I’m declaring media is officially dead, if this is what gets the traffic now.”

“Checked Twitter yet?”  
“Yeah, people are already talking about it, most seem to defend Oikawa.”  
“We’ll deal with it tomorrow -- I mean, later today.”

“. . . You know, this makes me think. . . Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

In between bites, Hanamaki watched his boyfriends for their reaction.  
He knew they’d get what he meant.

All fell silent for a few moments, to allow the unspoken tension to rise naturally.

“. . . We can’t,” Iwaizumi grumbled softly, squinting his eyes at Hanamaki.  
“There’s too much that can go wrong in a relationship, especially ours.”

Matsukawa stayed silent, only listening and watching.  
He always took on a neutral stance in this debate, though he started to veer to agreeing with Hanamaki more and more as time passed.

“But it doesn’t have to be like that. We’re _us_ ,” Hanamaki pointed out, “We’re not some bunch of teenagers who hastily decided that, “You know what, I think I’m in love with all three of my best friends”. . . We’ve been together for four years!”

“It’s too late to change our minds,” Iwaizumi interrupted, his nose scrunched up in frustration, “We should have included Tooru from the very start, but we didn’t. Now it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late! What are you saying?!”  
Hanamaki flared up, sliding off his chair and properly facing Iwaizumi.  
“Nobody knows Tooru more thoroughly than us, nobody will love him better!”

“And what if the media catches wind of it, huh? Or what if Tooru stops feeling comfortable around us, his closest friends, because we admitted that we’ve been in love with him since the very goddamn start?!”

Hanamaki’s expression softened, as he reached out to Iwaizumi.  
He wiped a smear of syrup leftover from the corner of the other’s mouth, sighing wistfully.

Iwaizumi glared at the ground below, chest heaving up and down and the snarl not dying down, but allowing Hanamaki to touch him.

Matsukawa quickly slithered over and joined their huddle.

“It’s been four years since the start of us,” he hummed, his arms tightly holding them all together.  
“. . . Tooru understood and accepted us. I don’t think it’s a bad decision to take half a step further and at least _tell him_.”

Hanamaki made an approving noise, looking at Iwaizumi through his eyelashes.  
“What if he _does_ feel the same, Hajime? What if -- what if the opposite of what we always thought is true, and we’ve been hurting him more by not including him?”

Iwaizumi let his forehead rest against Matsukawa’s.  
“I just don’t. . . want this, to change. It’s selfish, I know, but I -- I don’t want to lose him.”  
He breathed out a shaky sigh, tiptoeing the line of becoming emotional.

“None of us want that,” Matsukawa assured, “Telling him will be a gamble, for sure. A big one. But the possible prize -- “

“ -- is being able to kiss him, cuddle with him, spoil him even more,” Hanamaki finished, “Take better care of him, sleep with him, and knowing. . . knowing we won’t have to be fearful of gossip sites, to possibly find out Tooru is _actually_ seeing someone.”

Hanamaki left it at that, leaving Iwaizumi to think and consider by himself.  
It’d be the biggest decision they’d ever make by a landslide, would Iwaizumi agree to telling Oikawa everything.

Every day that passed separated Oikawa further away from Hanamaki, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa -- on some days, it wasn’t nearly as obvious, but bit by bit, things were changing.

It was a fool’s illusion to think Oikawa would forever be at their side if they kept going like this.

**xxx**

Matsukawa has never had it this difficult with a photoshoot before.

Utter torture.

And Hanamaki nor Iwaizumi seemed to be faring any better.

Wearing a white blouse, soaked and sticking to his skin, Oikawa lay perfectly still on top of an Ancient Greek-inspired platform, half-naked, a blood red rose pressed to his lips, creating a stark contrast with his pale skin.

Tiny diamonds were stuck beautifully to one side of his face, swirling from the corner of his eye along his jawline.  
His thick eyelashes fluttered every now and then, chocolate brown eyes gazing up through them, innocently staring into the camera.  
His expression -- as if he were caught in surprise, in a way as if it were completely normal for the model to look like _a literal god_ \--

Except for a bit of concealer dabbed here and there, this Oikawa Tooru was completely natural.

This session was very special and important for Oikawa’s next step in his career.  
The Japanese branch of an American company had taken notice of his latest television interview, and invited him for a photo shoot for their cover.

Besides the great pay, fantastic set and impressive office-studio, he was simultaneously invited to a party later tonight, which created opportunities for him to meet and connect with new people.

Matsukawa glanced at Hanamaki from across the room, out of the way of the photographer and off the set.  
Hanamaki gave him the most pathetically lovestruck glance back ever, gesturing to Oikawa and visibly sighing in frustration.

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, wore the darkest, stoic expression they’ve ever seen on him, and while Matsukawa found it kinda hot, he was a bit worried for the guy that glare was directed at.

The photographer was just doing his job.

Even if Matsukawa thought he was a bit _too_ nice and a bit _too_ enthusiastic and a bit _too much up Oikawa’s alley_.

“You’re stunning,” the young man behind the camera told Oikawa, and the model’s focused expression instantly broke into a happy beam, soaking up the praise like a sponge to water.  
The compliment held such an amount of sincerity, that Matsukawa couldn’t help but briskly look away, barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

Three months had passed since their 3 AM discussion about confronting Oikawa with their undying love, as Hanamaki liked to lightheartedly call it, in an attempt to hide his own growing frustration.

No progress had been made.

“And that’s a wrap, Tooru!”  
The photographer, also known as the prolific and extremely talented Futakuchi Kenji, gave Oikawa a thumbs up, before beckoning him over to check out the photos he took with his _Hasselblad_ camera.

Disregarding his half-naked state, Oikawa stumbled over across the green screen floor mat, peeking over Futakuchi’s shoulder at the camera’s gallery.

Hanamaki’s eyelid twitched, as he watched a few of the droplets drip from Oikawa’s damp curls onto Futakuchi’s neck.

“I can’t believe that’s really me,” Oikawa said in a soft voice, “You made me look a lot prettier than I actually am.”

“No way, this all you,” the other countered.  
“We won’t need photoshopping for the final rendering, perhaps only tonal shifts to give the shot a more ethereal look.”

Oikawa unlatched himself from Futakuchi, who safely shut off the camera and put it away in a protective case.  
Only then, the model skipped over to his nearest best friend, Hanamaki.

Wearing a smug grin, Oikawa pushed back his hair, and winked, and Hanamaki thought this was the end for him, because his heart stuttered and hurt and he was having a heart attack.

Almost.

“You watched me, right Iwa-chan? What did you think?” the model probed, turning sideways, hand resting on his hip.

“I think you need to put on some clothes or else you’ll catch a cold,” Iwaizumi said, and Matsukawa caught on and rummaged through one of the bags cast aside, hauling casual streetwear out of it.

Oikawa pouted and sniffed dejectedly, “If you’re going to be mean like that and ignore me, I’m gonna leave you all behind!”

Iwaizumi completely froze up, his mouth moving to form some kind of retort, but his brain supplied nothing.  
Luckily Oikawa didn’t seem to notice how he literally dropped the trio’s worst fear in passing, taking the clothing from Matsukawa with a huff.

“I can’t fucking believe,” Iwaizumi grumbled, astonished, as Oikawa disappeared inside his dressing room.  
“ -- that he just said that.”

“It’s a premonition,” Hanamaki concluded, “Fate is telling us that we should hurry the fuck up or else Oikawa’s gonna end up with that photographer guy tonight.”

“You did not just say that too, Hiro!”  
“I said what I said and I meant what I said.”  
“Fuck you, man.”  
“Tonight, perhaps.”

“No flirting on the job!” Oikawa called out, effectively nearly sending the three of them into the next dimension in surprise.  
“If you’re all going to frickle frackle tonight, I’m going to stay at Kou-chan’s!”

“Issei, are we going to frickle frackle tonight or not?” Hanamaki asked, quickly recovering from the initial shock of Oikawa barging in.  
“Or maybe Hajime will decide!”

“. . . Hiro, shush. Oikawa, don’t get drunk at that party tonight,” Iwaizumi said, disregarding his boyfriend’s insinuation.

“What? Why?”

“The four of us are going to have a talk when we get home,” Iwaizumi supplied.  
“A serious one, and we all need clear heads for it.”

Hanamaki’s mouth fell open, and Matsukawa just blinked wordlessly, because they both understood what Iwaizumi was implying.

Oikawa squinted at his best friend suspiciously, before nodding slowly in agreement.  
“. . . Alright. It better be really important then. If you’re lying and only saying that to prevent me from partying, I’ll still be staying with Kou-chan for the rest of the week.”

“Believe me, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grimaced, “I’m not looking forward to it, but I’m choosing the lesser evil by doing this.”

**xxx**

“What a sex icon!” Hanamaki crooned, shamelessly eyeing Iwaizumi, who just stepped out of the villa into their garden, padding along the pavement in swimming trunks only.

Though it was already starting to get dark, the swimming pool and its lounge area was lit up with colorful lights, both along the sliding glass doors and inside the pool itself.  
It was still warm enough to remain in swimming wear only, as well.

Spread on top of a gigantic flamingo pool floatie, right in the middle of the pool, was Oikawa, wearing sunglasses for absolutely no need besides fantastic selfie aesthetics.

Hanamaki failed to notice how Oikawa himself lowered his sunglasses to the far tip of his nose, checking out Iwaizumi as much if not more shamelessly -- Matsukawa saw, though.  
It lit a tiny spark of hope inside him, just by suggestion alone that Oikawa would even look at Iwaizumi that way.

Because either Oikawa pretended not to notice or he really was too dense, but ever since Iwaizumi’s declaration of “ The Talk of Inviting Oikawa Tooru into an Established Polyamorous Relationship ” taking place, it’d been tense among the three of them.

In anticipation, anxiety and a bit of fear, too.

While Oikawa was a talkative person, he never seemed too keen on telling his best friends his deepest, most intimate thoughts.  
While he loved cheesy romcoms, he didn’t talk about his own romantic endeavors.  
Not even when or if he fell in love with someone.

Oikawa hid his true feelings and emotions well, always has.

 _Too well_ , Matsukawa decided.  
That’s why he allowed himself to hope, just for a bit.

No matter the outcome of The Talk, in his opinion, they had made a mistake by not at least telling Oikawa about their feelings for him earlier.

Because if Oikawa ends up having been in love with them all this time as well, they had hurt him for over four years by not even hinting that Oikawa could be part of what they had.

Then again, four years ago it would’ve been a bad time to rope Oikawa into even more things in his life that needed his attention.

Perhaps he should have agreed with Hanamaki earlier, something like two years ago, to tell Oikawa.  
Then they could’ve convinced Iwaizumi together.

Matsukawa sighed, shifting to sit up straight into the beach lounge chair, having a clear view over the swimming pool.  
Next to him, Hanamaki did the same, but not before linking their fingers together, loosely holding hands.

“Strawberry smoothie for you, and shaved ice for you.”  
Iwaizumi handed both his boyfriends their respective “ orders ”, which they took gratefully with their free hands.

“Shittykawa, I’m not going to come to you. I got you your ice cream, so get over here!”

“Oh c’mon, Iwa-chan! I just started getting comfortable!” Oikawa called back, “You don’t mind a little evening pool dip, do you?”

Petting the neck of his flamingo, Oikawa willingly engaged into a staring contest with Iwaizumi at the edge of the pool who stared back at him unamused.

“Yeah, you don’t mind, right Hajime?!” Hanamaki joined, grasping any excuse to see his boyfriend in action.  
“The water won’t bite!”

Matsukawa didn’t try to hide his laughter, when Iwaizumi grunted at the prospect of being ganged up on, slowly shuffling around the pool to get to the steps leading inside the depths, holding the bowl of ice cream high up in the air.

 _“For fuck's sake,”_ Iwaizumi muttered under his breath, wading through the pool wearing a mask of irritation, yet the shine in his emerald eyes gave away how truly weak he was against his best friends.

Oikawa gasped in delight as he rolled over onto his stomach, unintentionally rewarding Iwaizumi with one of his sweet, genuine smiles.

“Just this once, Tooru,” Iwaizumi warned.  
He’d been really tempted to push over the flamingo floatie from the start of his pool journey to around halfway near Oikawa, but that laugh was all he needed to not act upon his instincts.

“I humbly thank you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru replied, taking the bowl and spoon offered to him.

Once glance back at Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s whispering and closeness told Iwaizumi it would be very distasteful to interrupt their intimate moment, and so he decided to take a break here in the pool with Oikawa.

He rested his forearms on top of the pink floatie, admiring Oikawa from closeby, content with drifting along.

Iwaizumi had been looking for a good moment to fulfill his promise of The Talk, yet every time he thought about it, he deemed the timing wrong.

It just didn’t feel right, when they were eating dinner.  
Or in the car trip back from Datekou Inc.’s celebrity party.  
Or --

“Say, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa licked his spoon of the vanilla remnants, “How do you guys. . . you know, how do you deal with stuff like that? When you’re not the one being included in a moment?”

He nodded towards Hanamaki and Matsukawa cuddling, barely fitting on a single beach chair together.

Iwaizumi hummed, letting Oikawa know he understood what he meant, thinking of the best way to explain.

“It’s really important to not compare, in a relationship such as ours,” he started, “You can’t keep tally on who gets to do what with whom, because then you’ll just. . . feel jealous, all the time. Even when it’s not needed.”

He found Oikawa’s eyes curiously staring back at him, listening intently, and Iwaizumi quickly looked away, embarrassed.

“Trust is important, of course. . . It’s a bonus that all four of us know each other so well, that if the tone of one’s voice is a bit off, we can tell something’s up,” Iwaizumi continued, readjusting his grip on the flamingo a bit.  
“They’re not cuddling behind my back, yeah? It’s not a secret, because it doesn’t have to be. Because we know our love is equally divided. . . and stuff. . .”

“. . . I see,” Oikawa whispered, a bit of melting ice cream dripping from his spoon into the bowl.  
“. . . Hajime, you. . . you said “ all four of us ”. . .”

Instantly lulled from his relaxed posture, Iwaizumi shot up.  
“I -- yeah, I mean, it’s true, right? It’s not -- we -- ”

If he could mentally slap himself, he would.

Their faces were so close, Iwaizumi closed his mouth when he noticed, not wanting to move and ruin this moment.

“You said we’d be having a serious talk tonight,” Oikawa continued, in an even softer voice, barely a whisper, but loud enough for Iwaizumi to understand.

Iwaizumi’s brain went haywire, with too many things to focus on, like Oikawa’s soft lips, glossy from the ice cream, the faint freckles of summertime scattered across his cheeks and nose and the new, tiny mole on his collarbone.

“I don’t know what it’s about, but I’m sure Makki and Mattsun already know this mystery topic, so you can just tell me now.”

Iwaizumi knew that expression.  
It’s the one Oikawa made when he prepared himself for disappointment, when he’d resigned himself to _something_ happening he didn’t want.

Iwaizumi decided to play along, deciding that it might be better for only him to witness Oikawa’s reaction, so that if it turned out less than favorable, Oikawa could still be comfortable around Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Iwaizumi mumbled back.  
“. . . It’s your choice, really. . . You see, Tooru, we -- we’ve been hiding something from you.”

He licked his lips, finally manning up and looking into Oikawa’s wonderful eyes.

“We thought it’d be better to not. . . to not tell you, since it could’ve interfered with your career, especially back then -- ”

“Get to the point, Hajime,” Oikawa urgently murmured, not really rude, more so in curiosity and anticipation.  
To get it over with.

_“Please.”_

Iwaizumi really hadn’t pictured The Talk, their confession, to happen at 10 PM in the middle of the swimming pool, on Oikawa’s beloved flamingo floatie.

But he wasn’t going to back out -- it was now or never.

He could feel Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s gazes burning into his back, and it gave him some reassurance, that they were there and waiting.

Iwaizumi opened his mouth, trying to think of a good, heartfelt and sincere way to tell Oikawa how much they all loved him, but he’s never been good with words.

Helplessly, he breathed, “. . . Takahiro loves you. Issei loves you. I love you.”

“. . . You mean. . . you _love_ love me?” Oikawa asked after a beat of silence, his voice quivering and vulnerable.

Iwaizumi couldn’t help but chuckle at Oikawa’s own _beautiful_ way with words, breaking down all tension pooling in his stomach, as his heart swelled in relief after being able to say those words for the first time, to Oikawa.

“Yes, you idiot. We have always been -- just ask Hiro or Issei, if you want confirmation -- in love with your dumbass. But we -- didn’t, deem it the right time, to tell you, back then. . .”

The ghost of a smile didn’t leave Iwaizumi’s face, making peace with the way things have gone, and that this is how Oikawa Tooru found out how his three best friends were in love with him.

Oikawa stayed silent for a bit.  
Iwaizumi didn’t dare look up or look behind, he only waited.

“Well, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my charm forever.”

“Oh my -- _Tooru_ ,” Iwaizumi warned, yet warmth started spreading throughout the entirety of his body.  
He didn’t know why, Oikawa hadn’t even really said anything yet, he only made a narcissistic comment --

 _Ah_ , Iwaizumi thought, _that’s exactly why._

“. . . Fuck you, Makki! Mattsun, you too!” Oikawa shrieked, and Iwaizumi looked up in time to see Oikawa flipping both of them off.  
“Four years, really? Four years!”

“ _Wh_ \-- Hey, blame Hajime, not me!” Hanamaki yelled back, instantly in battle mode after being called out, “I wanted to tell you much earlier, but nope, old man Hajime didn’t want to drag you down with us!”

Matsukawa merely shrugged, a lazy, satisfied grin spreading across his face, unable and unwilling to hide his joy.  
Fondness brimmed in his eyes as he gazed over at Iwaizumi and an indignantly crying Oikawa.

He stood up and walked over towards the pool, flinching at the temperature change as he slowly slid inside.

Hanamaki soon followed, splashing inside and paddling over towards the flamingo floatie with Oikawa still on top.

Then, all three men surrounded the flamingo, somewhat threateningly, and not without a still lingering sense of nervousness.

Huffing and puffing, Oikawa glanced down at all three of them, pulling up his bottom lip.  
“Do you all really. . . ?”

Pushing back his wet hair, Hanamaki nodded, before pulling himself up the flamingo floatie and trying to climb up, using Iwaizumi’s shoulder as leverage.

Oikawa quickly fixed his laying position to make room for him.

“But why? Why now, why -- why didn’t you tell me before, why not -- ” Oikawa started, eyes a bit wide and laced with hidden hurt.  
“. . . You know, I really tried. Making peace with it. That none of you -- that you didn’t love me the way you loved each other.”

“Tooru, I -- ”  
Iwaizumi felt guilty.  
Because this confirmed that one option neither him nor Hanamaki nor Matsukawa considered until it was too late.

That Oikawa Tooru has indeed been loving them in the same way all along.

Hanamaki swallowed, pressing his lips together as he tentatively placed his hand over Oikawa’s.

Oikawa sharply took a breath, through his teeth --

\-- and laced their fingers together, slotting in one perfectly.

“Sorry,” Hanamaki declared, squeezing Oikawa’s hand, “I really am. We could’ve -- ”  
He gasped softly.  
“ -- had so much, for so long, already.”

“We made a mistake,” Matsukawa added, “It was easy too easy to stay in this. . . cowardly loop.”

Thick tears fell past and rolled down Oikawa’s cheeks, his beautiful face, contorted and twisted.  
Oikawa was a silent crier, and this time was no different.

Despite his loud personality, when he fell into his most open and vulnerable state, he was quiet and subdued.

Iwaizumi furrowed his brows, knowing of himself that if and once Oikawa started crying, he’d soon follow.  
A habit his body never managed to forget ever since they were carefree children.

“It took us four years, but hey,” Hanamaki tried, blinking rapidly to keep his own tears away.  
“We’re here, now.”

“If you’ll still have us.”

Oikawa let out a breathy laugh, rubbing at his eyes.  
“Of course, you stupid -- you stupid idiots. You dumb, dumb idiots. . . But I will need more ice cream. ”

“Eh, ice cream is a step too far,” Matsukawa joked, looping his arms around Oikawa’s calves, hanging on.  
“Forget about all the lovey-dovey confessions we just made.”

As anticipated, Oikawa tried kicking up water to splash him, if only his legs weren’t locked in place.

Laughter soon followed, as the model wiped his last tears away, and completely eased the entire gloomy atmosphere into a more mellow, content-but-still-unsure one.

Matsukawa threw Iwaizumi a suggestive glance, but both Hanamaki and Oikawa noticed, and looked at each other a moment right after.

“Don’t -- ” Hanamaki pleaded, but it was too late.

The flamingo toppled right over, and Oikawa screeched ungodly before disappearing under water with Hanamaki.

Matsukawa and Iwaizumi were already wading backwards towards the edge of the pool, anticipating a pair of pissed off boyfriends (?) to try and get their revenge.

Hanamaki spat out a fountain of water once resurfacing, glaring at the two on the other side of the pool.  
Oikawa popped up right next to him, his curly hair now wet but somehow still bouncy and airy.

His sunglasses were drifting together with his empty ice cream bowl, though the spoon was rapidly on its way to the bottom of the pool, and the flamingo floatie continued to sadly stay upturned.

“This is not how you treat someone who just cried on your behalf!” Oikawa yelled, and Hanamaki nodded sagely along.  
“You know what? Fuck you both, I’ll just be Makki’s boyfriend only.”

Hanamaki immediately froze midway his nodding, before a pleasantly surprised, cocky smirk formed on his face.

And then continued nodding, while Oikawa huffed and pulled himself up the edge of the pool, holding his hands out to help up Hanamaki as well.

The two remained on the edge next to each other, thighs touching, lower legs idly dipping inside the water still.

“. . . I can say that now, right?” Oikawa then whispered, unsure.  
“It’s really okay, right? I don’t want to ruin anything -- ”

“Tooru, _yes please_ ,” Hanamaki whispered back, nudging his now confirmed boyfriend with his elbow, softly.  
“You claiming you’re my boyfriend is a wet dream come true.”

 _“Oh my god.”_  
Oikawa entered into a giggly schoolgirl mood, and easily dragged Hanamaki into one as well.

The other half of their relationship stood watching across the pool, towels in hand and drying themselves off, keeping a wistful eye on Oikawa and Hanamaki’s conspiratorial whispering.

“We shouldn’t have teamed up on Tooru and Hiro,” Matsukawa stated.  
“. . . Hiro’s gonna get the jump on us now.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Iwaizumi muttered, sighing.  
“That’s the price we must pay.”

“Hey, Tooru, they’re watching,” Hanamaki leaned over and whispered in his boyfriend’s ear.  
“If it’s too soon, say so. Your choice.”

Oikawa’s eyes shot over to Iwaizumi and Matsukawa, and squinted at them with considerable malice.

The fluffy, warm feeling -- however cliche that may sound -- only continued to grow in his stomach, alleviating like a cloud.

It was happiness, and satisfaction.  
And it was love.

“I’m telling you, I’ve been wanting to kiss Hajime since we were five and the both of you since our second year in high school,” Oikawa hissed, with underlying urgency.

While Hanamaki, Matsukawa and Iwaizumi lived these past four years in doubt, Oikawa lived in utter despair.  
He had to bathe in the knowledge that the three of them didn’t want him, that they didn’t love him like he loved them.

And now, finally, all that has changed, and Oikawa, really -- he couldn’t be any happier.

Hanamaki grinned smugly, bringing his hand up Oikawa’s jaw, and letting it rest on his cheek.  
“I get first kiss privilege, and I have to thank Hajime and Issei and their immature, traitorous moment for it.”

“Yeah, their fuckin’ loss,” Oikawa muttered, just before their lips met, fitting in every curve.  
He felt Hanamaki’s breathing through his nose along his skin, tasting strawberry smoothie on his lips, and then on his tongue, too.

And it just felt _right_.

Matsukawa sighed loudly on purpose in the background.

“Damn you, Hanamaki Takahiro, you man-eater!”

Wolf-whistling like some drunken frat boy, Matsukawa’s low, husky laughter bounced across the pool, and from the corner of his eye, when he peeked, Oikawa saw Iwaizumi face palming.

After parting, Hanamaki gave Oikawa a meaningful, surprisingly serious look.

“How’re you gonna. . . incorporate, _this_ , into your career?”

“Ah,” Oikawa, he hadn’t thought about it yet, but the answer came quickly.  
“. . . I’ll keep it a secret. To the outside world. Of course I’m going to tell Kou-chan, and Tetsu-chan -- ”

Hanamaki relaxed back into a comfortable position, nodding in agreement.  
“Yeah. Whenever we’re on sets or in studios or meetings, me, Issei and Hajime have been able to keep the innuendos and flirting under wraps, most of the time -- not counting today, but that was kinda your fault -- ”

“You were flirting right in front of poor Kenji-chan,” Oikawa shook his head, like a disappointed parent, which was quite ironic given the roles were usually reversed.  
“You gave him long-lasting PTSD.”

“He was too distracted by you to notice any of that,” Hanamaki shrugged him off, “Hajime was _this_ close to ripping his head off.”

“What?” Oikawa deadpanned.  
“. . . Really?”

Hanamaki snorted, “Yeah, really. Seeing you all clingy to the guy made Hajime finally decide he’d waited long enough, and to talk to you about. . . everything gay involving us and you.”

“Oh. I wish I could’ve seen that, Iwa-chan’s never happy with me.”

Hanamaki pulled his legs out of the water and stood up, holding his hand out to Oikawa and pulling him up also.  
“That’s just a front. Hajime’s a sap at heart. Take it from me, though you’ll most likely discover it yourself soon enough, but he’s the most protective out of all of us.”

Oikawa hummed, not fully convinced yet, but considering.

He let Hanamaki take the lead, arm wrapped around his waist, circling the pool to get to the villa, because it was starting to get a bit too cool for their liking.

Their bodies still hadn’t fully dried yet, and Oikawa gasped in delight at the sight of their other halves both with soft, fluffy towels in theirs arms.

Oikawa quickly flung himself into Iwaizumi’s arms, who merely grumbled and draped a towel around his shoulder.

“We haven’t forgotten how you betrayed us yet,” Hanamaki pointed out, begrudgingly letting Matsukawa wrap him in a towel cocoon.  
“Tooru and I will get our revenge.”

“I’m sure you will,” Matsukawa hummed, “But please, have mercy. We are such poor souls.”

Hanamaki’s glare would have been intimidating if he wasn’t rolled up like a burrito with only his face and a bit of his pink-brown hair peeking out.

“Iwa-chan?”  
Iwaizumi gently rubbed the towel across Oikawa’s shoulder blades, trying his best to ignore how the brunet’s full weight leaned against him.

It didn’t help Oikawa’s arms were loosely wrapped around his neck, and that he had started playing with the soft hair at the back of his nape.

Haughtily, Oikawa pressed his cooled cheek against Iwaizumi’s warm one.  
“We’re boyfriends now!”

“I -- ” Iwaizumi stuttered, and it didn’t escape the other.  
He cleared his throat.  
“. . . I am aware, _Shittykawa_.”

Oikawa gasped, feigning offence.  
“How dare you! That’s verbal abuse!”

“Yeah, go on, sue me,” Iwaizumi scooped up the slightly taller male in his arms, earning himself a high-pitched squeak.  
“If you’re being shitty, I’ll still call you out for it.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa had already moved back inside, well on their way to building a blanket and pillow fortress on the couch and in front of the television.

Bowls with popcorn and chips and cans of soda already took up most room on the low, glass table in front of the fort.  
The Netflix logo flashed on the screen, and Oikawa would’ve been tempted to make a joke about it any other time, if Matsukawa wouldn’t get to it first.

Heaving a content sigh, Oikawa pushed a few strands out of his own face, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Iwaizumi’s forehead.

In all honesty, Iwaizumi assumed that it would take him longer to get used to his childhood best friend and pining subject for over ten years finally becoming a romantic aspect in his life, but the mental switch had been made within half an hour.

He had been afraid for a bit that he’d have difficulties sharing Oikawa with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, too.  
Another reason as to why he’d been apprehensive of telling Oikawa everything.

And yet, that had turned out to be a false belief as well.

Shamelessly watching Hanamaki and Oikawa make out together with Matsukawa had been hot, to say the least, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.  
He’d spent too long with these people to still be mindful of his own gay thoughts -- that was a thing of the past, and it was going to stay there.

“I really love you,” Oikawa then whispered into his ear, in the same sincere, shy way Iwaizumi had heard many girls confessing to the model in high school.  
“Makki and Mattsun just as much -- I should start calling you all by your first names.”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi blurted out, warmth rising to his cheeks before he could even think about what he was saying.  
“Do that. Start doing that.”

“You eager pervert, Iwa-ch-- _Hajime_ ,” Oikawa laughed, and Iwaizumi quickly dumped him on top of the couch before anyone could notice what Oikawa in combination with first-name calling did to him.

He hurried into the kitchen, barely avoiding the roomba zooming across the floor, to join Hanamaki with preparing some more snacks, leaving Matsukawa to deal with a flailing Oikawa.

Hanamaki grinned at him once he entered.

“Isn’t this the best?” the man asked.

Iwaizumi nodded, allowing his own smile to surface.  
“It is. We made the best fucking decision ever.”

“Shame it took us four years, am I right?” Hanamaki mocked, causing Iwaizumi to glare at him with an unamused eye roll.

They listened to the obvious roughhousing going on in the living room, and then to Oikawa’s giggly laughter and pleas to _“ Stop tickling, oh my god, I’m going to die ”._

“I think Issei has the situation fully under control,” Hanamaki said, leaning back into Iwaizumi, who wrapped his arms around his waist from behind.

“Until Tooru realizes he can seduce him now,” Iwaizumi added, hiding his grin in Hanamaki’s neck.  
“We should seriously brainstorm ways to resist such things from happening to us, because Tooru will become an unstoppable and all-powerful force of nature if he figures it out.”

“I don’t think any amount of brainstorming will save us from him.”

Oikawa’s joy continued to fill the villa for a while, until it slowly dissolved, and both Iwaizumi and Hanamaki knew _exactly_ why.

“I’d hoped it took him a bit longer, but alas,” Iwaizumi sighed, in fake wistfulness.

“. . . Damn it, Hajime, I’m so fucking happy.”  
Hanamaki laughed softly, though Iwaizumi could hear the threat of tears when his voice broke.  
“I’m really, really happy right now.”

“Yeah, ah, _fuck_ \-- me too,” Iwaizumi agreed, tightening his grip around his boyfriend a bit.  
“We’re so lucky that Tooru didn’t. . . that he didn’t ever really give up, on us.”

Handing Iwaizumi the bowl with cut up pieces of tomatoes and slices of cucumber, with the dipping sauce, the two made their way back inside the living room, positively gleaming at the sight of Oikawa snuggled up to a very blissed out Matsukawa.

They joined the two, piling up blankets and pillows and stuffed against each other, feeling like literal canned tuna.  
Oikawa had blackmailed Matsukawa into giving him ownership of the remote control, skipping through the various movies and series.

Nobody anticipated Oikawa would actually choose a good movie for once, that didn’t involve aliens or ugly CGI or trash plotlines -- but then Oikawa happily settled on _“ Pacific Rim ”._

He squealed anytime a mecha battle started, making the other three suspect that Oikawa has already seen this movie just as many times as his other all-time favorites.

But they didn’t mind.

Because it felt right, the way they worked it all out, and the way Oikawa Tooru now fit right in with their cuddling without it feeling like there was an invisible wall between them.

Because it felt good, and none of them doubted their future as a unit anymore.

Because it was meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu.uu](https://www.instagram.com/irusu.uu/) or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) where I also do art!  
> If you have any prompts or AUs you'd like for me to consider writing, this is how you can reach me!


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